The Dragonborn Comes
by CowardlyAuthor
Summary: The hall was silent. None spoke, and the dim light from the flames flickered. "Who are you?" Dumbledore asked. The stranger stood there. "Who am I?" He repeated. "I am..."
1. Chapter 1

**Just a short little thing to that came to me. Wrote this all in a half an hour, so it's not that long. If you're wondering, I got that introduction from an Elder Scrolls Forum on SpaceBattles. It was from 2012 or 2013, so I think I can take it. It's not mine, is what I'm saying.**

 **~Line-Break~**

The hall was quiet. The blue glow from the Goblet of Fire flickered, outlining an intimidating figure. The crowd gasped when he came into light, and Dumbledore stepped in between the intimidating figure and the hall.

Usually twinkling eyes narrowed, and the old mans frail appearance was a sharp contrast to the sheer _presence_ he exuded.

"Who are you?" The Wizard asked. His voice echoed off the walls, and carried an authority the stranger found familiar.

"Who am I?" The stranger asked, his Voice seeming to penetrate the walls, instead of echoing. He spoke with the voice of a Hurricane, and Dumbledore felt the Power that thrummed in this mans Voice.

The stranger could have grinned or frowned, it was impossible to tell. He resembled a strong, if short, human in his early twenties. His form was cloaked in a strange armor that seemed as if made of Glass and Gold, and a strange hood and gleaming ornate Mask concealed his face. For a reason he couldn't describe, the man reminded Dumbledore of a Dragon.

"I am Bloodkin of the Orcs," the stranger spoke, his Voice thrumming and echoing like a thousand speakers at once. "Bard in Solitude, and Champion of Azura, Clavicus Vile, Boethiah, Hircine, Hermaeus Mora, Malacath, Mehrunes Dagon, Mephala, Meridia, Molag Bal, Namira, Peryite, Sanguine, and Sheogorath. I am Thane in Eastmarch, Falkreath, Haafingar, Hjaalmarch, Whiterun, Winterhold, and in the Pale, the Rift, and the Reach. I am Hero throughout the Rim of the Sky, an Agent of Dibella and Mara, Vampire Hunter of the Dawnguard, and Savior of Solsthiem. By right of birth, I am Dragonborn, born of the blood of the Akatosh. By right of oath and glory, I lead as Harbinger of the Companions of Jorrvaskr and stand heir to the throne of Ysgramor. By right of cleverness, I am Master of the College of Winterhold and stand as Arch-Mage before the Sea of Ghosts. By right of blood, I Listen for the Night Mother and by her will I slew an Emperor. By right of plunder, I am Nightingale of Nocturnal and Guildmaster of Thieves. I wore the eight masks of the fallen Priests and walkedthrough the lands of the dead and returned. I am Ysmir, Dragon of the North, and I am Dovahkiin."

Silence greeted his bold introduction, most of the hall struck with the feelings of awe and confusion. Dumbledore, a Master and Scholar of high renown, noticed more than a few familiar and worrying names. He was also not ignorant that this man claimed to have slain an Emperor. Arch-Mage was an Old Name, outdated by most societies, but not a Title just any magic user could acquire. And that aside, this stranger practically radiated power, enough that Dumbledore was more cautious than usual about getting into an altercation.

"Of course," the Champion continued. "You might know me better by my other name." He removed his Mask, and Dumbledore felt the air escape his lungs. Beside him, Severus gasped audibly. Green eyes glowing with an inner power, the Dovahkiin spoke.

"My name is Harry Potter."

Pandemonium ensued.


	2. Chapter 2

**People like this. For that, I have to keep going. Let's see how long before this crashes and burns.**

 **Sorry if it's a bit dull, but I expected it to be a oneshot only. No idea where I'm gonna go with this because of that. These chapters are going to be short, on average. One longer than 2.5K words will be rare.**

 **~Line-Break~**

'Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody' gave a mental grin as he watched the proceedings. Truly, his Master was a genius of the highest order! But he needed to not break character, and hoped that he didn't accidentally kill the stupid boy with his attack. He made a mistake.

The Firebolt spell is one of the most basic offensive spells, period. It travels at an average of 117 feet every second, with a considerable range of 500 feet. The Lightning Bolt spell is infinitely faster, in that it takes no time to reach its target. Harry, in his travels, had encountered nearly every type of Mage, including a Telvanni who was _very_ interested in how having a Dragon Soul affected the body. Harry is capable of dodging a Lighting Bolt spell, and numerous other things.

The stunning spell, a blue jet of light that was only slightly faster than a Firebolt spell, crossed the distance between the false Moody and Harry's back in the same amount of time it would take a normal man to blink. Harry, however, decided to be a bit more dramatic than usual. He needed to get across that he was serious, and quickly.

Coating his hand in Magicka in a display of free-form magical manipulation that would probably result in the loss of a hand if he had any less control, Harry swatted the spell out of existence. Using the magicka already coating his hand, he then summoned a small dagger and cut through the follow up spell coming through the blue-white mist from the stunner he just slapped out of corporeality. Harry then threw the dagger across the room, imbedding the blade into the wall next to Moody's head. The magically reinforced, stone wall.

The entire exchange took less than three seconds.

Dumbledore, hoping to stop the situation from getting worse, used his considerable magical presence, what an uneducated person would call his 'aura,' to flood the room. Most of the students stopped being able to breath, and everyone else, even the other teachers, broke out into a cold sweat.

Harry felt a shiver go up his spine, and a strong sense of caution filled his mind. He had felt stronger Mages, killed them even, but that didn't mean this old Archmage wasn't still a threat. This old man, he was on the level of some of the stronger Dragon Priests, if not stronger. While not even close to Miraak, Harry had to say that a pure magical fight would be... Unwise for the surroundings.

But that was hardly a fair comparison, as in pure magical ability, Harry himself was barely able to match Miraak. What won that fight had been his Thu'um, and his blades.

Still, Dumbledore wasn't attacking, so that projection of his power was likely a warning. Harry gave an approving nod, recognizing his fellow Archmage equivalent as a smart man, and not just walking artillery. Harry adjusted his Mask on his face, making sure it was properly connected to the hood. That done, he dropped into a very easy to spot, neutral stance.

A false-calm settled in the room, and Dumbledore belatedly noticed a piece of singed paper falling to the ground. Reflexes even a younger man would be hard pressed to match allowed the old man to snatch the paper out of the air. Holding it in front of him, Dumbledore felt like releasing a dry chuckle, or perhaps even a chortle.

Reading it aloud, Dumbledore ignored the gasps. "Harry Potter. If you will come with me," it was not a question, "we will get to the bottom of this. To this back room."

And off they went. In the main hall was filled with whispers, students and teachers alike muttering amongst themselves.

Barty Crouch Sr. shuffled after them, while 'Moody' pulled the dagger out of the wall, stowing it into his bag.

 **~Line-Break~**

After the fiasco that was introducing Harry to the other three Champions, and explaining the Tournament to him, Harry and Dumbledore went to his office to talk, Mage to Mage.

It was an uneasy silence as they stared at each other, Dumbledore with the Elder Wand in hand and Harry with his gleaming enchanted Mask. Fawkes, the immortal firebird, watched with piercing eyes.

Finally, after nearly a full minute of staring, Harry slowly reached up and removed _Morokei_ from his face. Placing the Mask down on the desk in between them, Harry watched as Dumbledore relaxed minutely.

After a slightly less tense moment, Harry spoke. "We have much to discuss."

"Yes," Dumbledore nodded. "Yes we do." He leaned forward slightly. "Where have you been?"

Harry paused, his face contorting in concentration. He gave a long, reluctant sigh, facing the elder Wizard with a look that spoke of tiredness.

"For that, we will have to go to the beginning." Harry spoke, and Dumbledore felt apprehension fill his being. "When my mother preformed whatever ritual, it left traces. Those traces deeded off my magicka like parasites," here Dumbledore felt a rare feeling of fear, "and grew in strength. When I was but a few months old, someone tried to kill me."

Harry paused, before smiling a somewhat deranged smile.

"They failed, and I was sent to Tamriel."

And the Archmage spoke while the Wielder of Death listened.

 **~Line-Break~**

 **For some reason, I'm not getting notified to reviews. Weird. Anyways, I was not expecting you guys to like this, at all. It was supposed to be a oneshot, so I have no idea where I'm going with it. Review, and tell me some suggestions!**


	3. Chapter 3

When Harry was nothing more than a child, barely able to walk, his uncle tried to kill him. As Vernon was not a blood relative, the Blood Wards activated, destroying him. This traumatic experience to a young child was enough to cause a burst of accidental magic.

Accidental magic, unpredictable at the best of times, was the cause of world changing events roughly 70% of the time. Powerful wizards and witches seem to come from troubled pasts, rising from the ditches to stand above the rest. Some of this is because of accidental magic.

Magic can be compared to a muscle; at least by a non-wizard, who will try and rationalize a force of the Universe. All magically gifted humans instinctively know magic, and how to grow more skilled in its use. Making matters more complicated, magic is shaped by its user and colored by their preconceived notions.

As an example, a bodybuilder who thought magic grew as you used it would be both extremely physically powerful, and as powerful, magically, as he trained himself to be. As he grew older, he would weaken, until as an old, frail man would have almost no magical power. In reality, he never lost any magical power, merely losing the channel for his power.

By comparison, someone who grew up with the thought that magical power was entirely dependent on the strength of the mind would rarely lose power as he aged. The reason for this is because of how magic is subconsciously shaped by the user. The bodybuilder used his Body to channel magic, while the wizard used his Mind.

I could go into paragraphs of detail on the nature of magic, and the nuances of the human psyche, but I'll simply put it this way:

Lily Potter used a poorly understood Blood Ritual to sacrifice her Undying Soul to save her son from a curse that could kill Gods. Dumbledore, using his considerable knowledge and power, was able to twist the Ritual into a lifelong shield for the baby, only to unknowingly make it into a shield of Parasites that fed on Harry's magic. Vernon, who hated and feared magic, tried to kill Harry, a powerful, emotionally unstable, infant wizard under a shady magical protection forged by the death of his wife's sister.

Vernon was killed in a bloody, messy fashion, while Harry was traumatized even further. Harry's magic, powerful in its simplicity, reacted as it was charged with the fear of Harry and the hatred of Vernon. The protection was more than Blood Magic, as Lily created the ritual by researching very disturbing subjects of the Veil.

It all cultivated in Harry falling into a world of death, destruction, and magic. Where Men and Mer fought and loved, where demons plotted, and people just lived their lives. A world of Gods and Demons, Monsters and Heroes.

A world, of Power.

"Beware, beware, the Dragonborn comes..."

 **~Line-Break~**

Dumbledore listened in wonder as the Archmage of Winterhold spoke.

"I do not know the exact circumstances for how I left, but using memory-retrieval spells and magicka residue Mages were able to piece it together." Harry paused, giving Dumbledore an appraising look. "Where I ended up was a dangerous place, full of monsters and creatures capable of killing even powerful Mages with ease."

"I lived in Tamriel."

 **~Line-Break~**

 **Sorry this took so long, and how sucky this whole chapter is. I just, got stuck I guess. I tried to continue, but I couldn't figure out where.**

 **So I'm going to start the next chapter explaining where Harry went. But don't tell anyone, ok? It's a secret.**


	4. Chapter 4

Deep in the forests of Cyrodiil, game was aplenty. Deer, fox, rabbit, and even bear, wolf, and mountain lion for the more adventurous of hunters. And if you wanted a more exotic and dangerous hunt, there was always the Goblins.

One hunter, a young Bosmer, was stalking a particularly beautiful buck near some ruins. She had tracked this beast for a few miles, keeping silent with feet quiet for even her race. Carefully, she nocked an arrow, drawing the bow slowly enough that it wouldn't creak. She steadied her breathing, lining up the perfect shot. The buck stopped next to a creek that ran through a small clearing. As it knelt down to drink, it exposed its side to the hunter.

The perfect kill.

Her heart beating a bit faster than normal, she forcefully slowed her breathing, drew the drawstring back just a bit more...

With an explosion of green and blue arcane energy, the buck was scared off as a small bundle fell to the ground. Cursing, the woman accidentally released her arrow. She watched as the projectile launched itself through the air, high enough to escape the trees. That arrow was lost.

Annoyed and frustrated that her kill was stolen from her, the young hunter approached the bundle on the floor. She knew enough of magic to heal herself and maintain the enchantment on her bow, but explosions of green and blue were probably bad.

Drawing a short sword as she drew closer, her sensitive, pointed ears detected the faint sound of breathing, while her strong nose let her smell a small amount of blood. Child blood, she realized with a start.

Approaching a bit faster, she carefully unwrapped the bundle. She let out a gasp, her auburn hair falling into her eyes as she jerked back. It was a child.

And not just any child, she realized. She could practically smell the magic on this one. And with his high cheekbones, dark black hair, and mesmerizing green eyes, this child could only be Breton nobility.

Her eyes darkened with greed for a moment, but she quickly banished the thought. Her husband, young as he was, was quite skilled at magic and it pained him to know a child between them would likely have little talent in the arts. Raising a human, it would be difficult for her. But worth it, if the child brought as much love as her husband.

She was already 87, relatively young by Bosmer standards, and her husband was 33. They were going to try having a child soon, but one to break in their technique couldn't hurt...

Her mind made up, she grabbed her new son and disappeared into the woods, her hair flowing behind her.

There were no disturbances in the forest, except the magical residue.

 **~Line-Break~**

The years passed quickly. The hunter's husband was skilled in magic, but a Scholar, instead of a fighter. Using some precise magic, he recovered the name of the child, and with the magicka residue and his memories, the older Breton recognized a dark ritual was the cause of his appearance.

With pity and kindness in their hearts, the couple raised the boy with love and discipline. They taught him right from wrong, to respect the meaning of the law, if not the law itself, and some basic histories of the Empire. The Great War had ended not long ago, and both were fearful of the Thalmor and any imagined slights they had on peasants.

When Harry, which was a nickname of Harold they assumed, was only 4 he was taught by his mother the art of the hunt. To respect the woods, and use all that you took. His father, not to be outdone, taught him magic. Soon, young Harry had a sister, and his parents were quite proud of how well they raised Harry. They made some mistakes, of course, but they were more learned.

With a sibling who took so much after their mother, Harry's father had more time to teach Harry magic. They still hunted, like mother and son, but less often. Their biological child took after their mother so much, they could disappear into trees while Harry struggled to run through branches.

By the time Harry was 9, he was as powerful as a Mage twice his age, and knew more than a few spells. He also took his training with his mother more seriously, and took up a dagger.

After a day, Harry made a more powerful healing spell, and started reading up on shield spells and wards.

At 10, Harry joined one of the many fragments of the Mages Guild, where he learned the finer points of Conjuration and Alteration, his most advanced schools. As he grew by leaps and bounds, his peers grew jealous and fearful.

One day, while he was 15, he was ambushed.

His father was a powerful Mage, but a Scholar at heart. He never taught his son to fight, only to defend.

But Harry, Harry didn't know how to describe the feeling _burning_ in his chest, that sometimes made him want to scream. It urged him, to fight, to win, to excel. To kill.

To _dominate_.

The feeling that burned in his _soul_ , that made his Lightning Mark pulse in angry throbs, it gave him an edge. And instinctive combat ability.

It was shameful, but sometimes Harry would sneak off to fight bandits, and spar with the Fighters Guild. He would hunt, and stalk; anything to make his soul ache less.

So when a group of mages many years his senior cornered a young teenager, they expected him to throw a bit of fire, maybe cry a bit. Then they would kill him and be done.

Instead, they their 'prey' fought back. Because he wasn't prey. He was a _Dragon_.

But they were mages many years his senior, and he was alone. Though powerful, he was still just a boy. And so, with cracks of thunder, and explosions of fire, and the sound of Atronach crashing into Atronach, Harry fled.

They chased him, sure that the stupid boy was a Daedra worshipper to have been so powerful, and they wanted a reward for bringing him in. So they chased him into the woods.

His mother was a Bosmer. He could summon Daedra and weapons. The bodies were never found.

But Harry couldn't go back. Those mages liked to brag, and told him how his family was being watched. If he went back, they would kill them.

And so, young Harry set out into the dark world at only 15. He met many challenges, but he followed his soul. He fought, he won, he excelled. He dominated.

He was Harold. He was a _Dragon_.

Years later, when he was barely 20, a group of Dunmer bandits attacked him. The Silence spells they chained to him were strong enough to last a week, but he got them back with a good old fashioned Orcish short sword.

The Imperial convoy, carrying Stormcloak prisoners, that happened upon him shortly afterwards were as arrogant and stupid as they were skilled.

They only lost 5 men.

 **~Line-Break~**

 **I'm very sorry this took so long. And for how short it is. But, well, I didn't really know how to do Harry's backstory. So I went vague, and it probably sucks, but oh well. What you gonna do?**

 **No idea when the next one is coming out, but I hope it's sooner than this was.**


	5. Chapter 5

***Laughs at the hopeful thought at the end of last chapter* I feel awful. And to make it worse, I wrote the first half of this a few days after posting the last chapter, but the rest has been kicking me in the teeth.**

 **Be warned, updates will probably be infrequent enough where you will think I've died. Maybe I will, but hopefully not. Enjoy Harry's adventures!**

 **~Line-Break~**

With magic weakened to a level similar to a 3 year old Nord, and suffering a concussion and several bruises and cuts from his capture, Harry could honestly say he was surprised that he survived Helgen. He couldn't offer much resistance when the overachiever decided to impress Tulius and the Thalmor by executing someone not on the list of prisoners.

Why a horse thief was being executed was still a puzzle that Harry couldn't solve.

Then the dragon showed up.

Giant, black, covered in spikes, with glowing eyes and a head large enough to bite a giant in half, the monster destroyed Helgen. Speaking in a booming, ancient language, it called down Storms, meteors, and fire. With every breath, fire and ice destroyed buildings and made craters. A monstrous creature whose thundering voice alone was crushing Helgen with ease.

In the confusion, the prisoners tried to escape. A Stormcloak and an Imperial tried to escape, getting distracted and killing each other while the dragon burned down Helgen, and Harry broke into the keep in the confusion.

Inside, Harry grabbed an iron sword, which was little better than a slightly pointy metal stick, and escaped. The over eager Imperial lady tried to murder him, again to his annoyance, but barely slowed him down. Even weakened, Harry was an accomplished swordsman.

To his further annoyance, both Stormcloaks and Imperials tried to kill him on the way down. And a Mage attacked him, which was harder to deal with than Harry would admit.

With no magic, no armor, a crappy weapon, and covered in injuries that debilitated his reaction times and mental processing, it took him 12 seconds to kill the torturer. Slow and disappointing. At least he got a good hood out of it.

Still, Harry escaped Helgen without too much trouble. After that, Harry used his slightly recovered magic to cast a location spell and see where the closest town was. It lasted a few seconds, and then he was drained.

With a direction, Harry set out. On the way, he picked some useful ingredients for health potions, found some strange and powerful Stones he only barely recognized, killed a bandit lookout for some slightly better gear and some clothes, and was attacked by wolves. All in all, a little more excitement than he was used too.

Harry guessed that with the Civil War, bandits and wild life were rampant. That was the only reason he could think of for why a mine so close to a village was occupied by scum.

At the village, called Riverwood Harry learned, he sold some of the weapons he picked up to the Blacksmith. Then he went to the inn, to rest and heal.

In the morning he walked over to the Riverwood Trader to get some supplies. Inside, he overheard an argument about a Golden Claw, an ancient barrow, and a thief. Offering his services in exchange for a discount and some gold, Harry had a mission.

On the way up the mountain, he saw wolves, deer, and a few ruins. One of those ruins had some bandits, who tried to attack him. One of them had a half decent steel short sword, or a long dagger, which was a better match than the longsword Harry had been using.

He wasn't a tall man, much to his annoyance. Not short, but certainly not tall. As such, a shorter blade fit his fighting style better than a long one.

When Harry finally got to Bleak Falls Barrow, it was late morning, almost midday. Bandits had set up camp around the ruins, and a few archers were keeping lookout.

Though he excelled in the forests, Harry was not helpless in the snow and mountains of Skyrim. Slinking off to the side, and using daggers to climb the ice and rock, Harry snuck around many of the bandits.

In all honesty, Harry planned to just ignore them, at least until he heard them making plans to go into Riverwood to 'acquire' some 'merchandise.' With that, they sealed their fate.

5 minutes later, Harry wiped the blood off his blade as he walked through the massive doors to the crypt. Inside he saw the corpses of large, oily furred rat like things, which were called skeevers. There were a few dead bandits covered in bite marks, the veins on their necks a sickly black color.

In the middle of the room were 2 large pillars. From where Harry entered, he could see a small camp with two bandits in the other side of the far pillar, across the massive chamber. Checking his magicka levels, Harry made a plan that only slightly showed off how much better he was than any bandit.

Raising a glowing hand as he sunk into the shadows, a strange, ethereal bow appeared in his hands, and quiver on his back. A modification of the conjured weapons spell, this spell conjured an ethereal weapon that could be imbued with Illusion spells. They did no damage, no one noticed the arrows, and they could be used at a larger range than most Mages were accurate with.

With Fury on the tip of his arrow, Harry drew back the drawstring with the air of an expert. Barely a moment after drawing, he released the arrow. It sank directly into the head of the larger bandit, and was drawn into his mind. That increased the spells effect, and put the bandit into a berserker-like rage instead of simply marking 'everything' as an enemy.

Barely after the arrow left the bow, Harry cast another spell that transmuted a small stone into a steel arrowhead, which was placed on the next arrow he drew seamlessly. Taking an extra second to aim this time, Harry fired another arrow into the path of the larger bandits head as he jerked his battle axe from the corpse of his comrade.

From the time of drawing the first arrow, Harry killed both bandits in 3 seconds.

Dispelling the weapon, Harry walked up and searched the camp for supplies. Finding some gold and gems, Harry pocketed what was valuable and left the rest. Pausing, Harry turned back from the stairs and ate the meal the bandits were preparing before heading off.

Instead of the maze he was expecting, Harry instead found the tunnels to be more of a funnel. Dead skeever and the occasional bandit that died of disease littered the floor, and most of the side paths were blocked off by cave-ins, thick vines, or spiderwebs. Webbing this large put Harry on edge, as his magicka still wasn't recovered. It would take until the morning after next for him to be at 100% again.

Continuing on, Harry turned a corner to see the back of a muscled bandit. Instantly dropping into a silent forward roll, Harry came into a crouch right behind the bandit, dagger in hand. He stayed his hand, following behind the bandit close enough to stab him, but far enough away to remain undetected. They walked down a set of stairs that led to a room, with a gate on the far side and a staircase to the right. Harry noticed the lever in the center of the room, and some strange stones with pictures of animals.

Recognizing a trap from years of living wherever he could, including ancient ruins, Harry stayed back. The bandit, a very stupid man Harry realized, didn't even slow down as he walked over to the lever. His screams were very annoying, echoing as they did in the stone room, as dozens of poison darts stabbed into him from above.

As soon as the bandit died, Harry moved into the room. He spent a minute viewing the architecture, marveling at the ancient Nordic stone, before doing the puzzle. It was almost insultingly easy, and when he pulled the lever the gate rose. Into the next room, Harry noticed a few gems on a table along with a bag of coin, which he pocketed. To his left was a deep, wooden spiral staircase.

Casting a muffle spell, Harry snuck down the stairs. Keeping an ear out, he heard the breath of three, no, four, small animals. They were wheezing, and he could faintly smell the stench of disease on them. Harry was both thankful of his hunter-trained senses, and cursed them for what he was forced to endure.

At the bottom, Harry noticed found the four skeevers. None were looking at him, and Harry noticed a bottle and a scroll on a table, along with a satchel. Drawing his blade, Harry made short work of the vermin. Examining the table, he noticed that the bottle was full of some kind of venom, and the scroll was a pre-made fire spell. Good in a pinch, but only one use. Harry saw that there was a staggering increase in spider webs, and down the hall he saw a human skeleton.

Walking with caution, Harry kept his short sword up and a handful of fire in his off hand. He paused, listening. Talking, faint and panicked. That, and with how big the webs had gotten, didn't paint a good picture for whoever got stuck.

Harry saw an archway covered in thick webbing, and considered his options for getting through it. When he heard the panicked screams of a Dunmer, something you never really forgot once you've heard it, Harry abandoned all pretenses of subtlety.

Throwing his left arm forward, a great stream of fire exploded from his palm. It caused a slight drain on his magicka, but nothing too bad. The webs didn't do much as unravel as they did melt, and Harry stepped through the burning remains with his steel blade aloft.

Seeing they giant Frostbite spider, easily as big as a wagon, was disconcerting no matter who you are. That it appeared injured was good, at least, but the shriveled remains of a Dark Elf was stuck in the webbing just behind the beast. Really, there was only one course of actions to take.

Harry stabbed his sword into an egg sack beside him in the same moment as he grabbed the Fireball scroll. Raising his burning left hand, a great blast of orange heat flew as fast as an arrow, and just behind it was a lance of solid ice cast from his main hand. As soon as both spells had left, Harry used a chunk of his remaining magicka to cast a shield spell as he drew his sword from its unconventional sheathe, charging the giant arachnid in the same moment.

The Fireball spell struck first, exploding in a sphere of flame that covered most of the beasts body, warping the carapace with the heat. The ice spike, which was as large as a great spear, struck the center of the spiders body and easily penetrated the heat weakened exoskeleton. Staggering back from the two powerful spells, the wounded monster still reacted. Lashing out with one of its forelimbs, it spat poison as Harry rolled under the leg. Using his arm and magical shield to knock the poison ball away, Harry lashed out with a number of fast paced sword slashes, quickly jumping back when the spider tried to take a bite out of him. Placing both hands on his sword, Harry channeled his magicka through the blade with skill born of long practice. Lightning leaped along its edges, and Harry took a heavy handed slash at the air between them. The slash of lightning, sharper than most non-magical weapons, that flew through the air cut the spider almost in half.

His magicka mostly drained, Harry took the calm to regain his breath. That was a difficult fight, and he was lucky he wasn't that injured. Stepping around the twitching corpse, Harry approached the dead Mer in the webbing. Carefully cutting him down, Harry searched his bag and found the Golden Claw he was looking for. Noticing a journal, Harry sat down and started reading. It would be good to have something to do while he recovered his magicka.

Several minutes later, Harry was fighting the long dead Nords and questioning his need for adventure.

 **~Line-Break~**

As the puzzle gate lowered into the floor, Harry wondered at how easy it was. It was making him more cautious, as he has noticed the undead were getting increasingly powerful as he progressed to the heart of the tomb. Maybe, he thought with a frown of concentration, the puzzle wasn't to keep things out.

Judging by the massive cavern, several eroded streams, and the extremely large, ceremonial coffin, Harry began to suspect he had stumbled into the burial chamber of a dragon cultist. And that meant a strong undead, probably with powerful magic or an enchanted weapon.

Approaching carefully, with slow and measured steps, Harry ascended the stairs. The coffin was bigger than he thought, and whoever was buried here had to have been a large brute, even by Nord standards. There was an ornamental chest, with some fading preserving enchantments, and a few small stands holding some soul gems.

But what captured Harry's attention was not the treasure. No, it was the large curved wall, carved with ancient symbols that hummed with a power beyond mortal comprehension. It called to him, and without even thinking Harry found himself walking towards the wondrous structure.

The closer he got, the more Harry could feel something resonating deep within him. Was it his imagination, or did some of those symbols glow with fire? His vision faded, and ancient chants boomed in his ears. With a sudden lurch, Harry found himself standing there, the world clearer than it had ever been, with one word in his mind.

 _Fus_. Force.

With that word thrumming deep in his chest, Harry turned to grab some of the treasure...

... Only to have to dodge the swing of a greatsword longer than he was tall.

Rolling to the floor, Harry sprung to his feet a few feet away from where the hulking undead was standing. Harry observed his new opponent, and the fire in his chest roared with anticipation. This would not be an easy battle.

The draugr before him was taller than any Orc Harry had seen, and more than a few Altmer. It's grey skin was wrinkly, and looked as if it had the consistency of paper, while the muscles underneath pulsed and coiled with supernatural strength. It's eyes glowed a sickening blue, radiating hatred, while its lipless mouth was full of rotting teeth. It opened its jaw, and Harry was surprised when it spoke.

" _FUS_!"

And a pulse of energy flew forward, dismissing the still forming Flame Atronach Harry had cast with a crackle of energy. The feeling of raw Force slammed into Harry with the strength of an angry giant, resonating in his very _being_.

Stunned and confused, Harry barely had the frame of mind to cast a shielding spell on himself. It absorbed most of the following slash, but the magical barrier still shattered from the power behind the blow, and a long gash was left on the front of his leather armor. Feeling a bruise forming, and thanking all the gods he knew that the sound didn't kill him outright, Harry stopped playing around.

Gathering magicka in both of his hands, Harry focused it into a sphere of wind. Throwing the hulking monster a good 15 feet away in a tumble of blade and limbs, Harry had time to breathe.

It should be noted that, while there had been many powerful mages across history, some of the most dangerous had used Conjuration as a primary school. A fireball powerful enough to destroy a castle is all well and good, but an army of demons and zombies is hard to beat.

While Harry was a powerful Mage, capable of throwing fire and lightning with unnatural skill considering his age, he was a peerless genius when it came to his favorite schools, Conjuration and Alteration. After only a few years of learning, he had been nearly as skilled as his teachers. He was 15 when he left.

Five years later, Harry has come a long way in power and skill. Though still suffering from the remnants of his binding, he had enough power for _this_.

His left hand holding a purple-black orb, and his right with a formless icy blue glow, Harry _clapped_. The effect was instantaneous, as three portals appeared around him, and his summons stepped out.

One was a Flame Atronach, and the other two were Ice Atronachs. All three were faintly glowing from his augmenting spells, which made them more powerful that usual. Even Harry himself had been altered, now covered head to toe in ethereal armor and wielding a savage bow with a blade attached.

His Ice minions thunders forwards, their stomps echoing in the cavern as they stormed the rising undead, while the Flame moved slightly forward, to the bottom of the platform that held the coffin and chest. Harry moved back to stand by them, drawing back his summoned bow as he did.

Below, two hulking monsters fought a third, swinging fists the size of anvils with an ease that suggested they were made of paper. The Draugr stood strong, catching one fist against his braced arm, while the other hand swung its blade at the second icy beast, who blocked it with a chipped arm. The stalemate was broken by a fireball thrown by the flame atronach, catching the undead in the face with a screech. That screech turned into a literally earth-shaking roar, causing Harry and his minions to stumble.

With an ancient battle cry, the long dead Nord charged at the closest Atronach with his blade in both hands, bringing it down on the mountain of ice with a _crunch_. Magical shield and icy skin _shattered_ , the towering behemoth dissolved into nothing as it was violently sent back to Oblivion. The draugr was staggered from a punch to its side by the other atronach, sending it stumbling into an ethereal arrow sent by Harry that punched all the way through its chest, sinking into the stone several feet behind.

Utterly unbothered by the new hole in its body, the Draugr took a deep breath to Shout.

Harry dropped his bow instantly, preparing a quick, but powerful, spell. Purple sparks danced on his fingertips, before he released the Thunderbolt.

The air split with a _crack_ , and the powerful spell impacted the undead with enough force to rip off one of its arms. The Atronach wasted no time in stomping on the prone body until it was nothing but pulp.

Harry leaned back with a gasp, resting on the edge of the coffin. That last spell had taken all of his remaining magicka to cast, and he still hadn't fully recovered from the bindings. He released his bound armor and his summons in order to recover faster.

After a few minutes of light meditation to bring his magicka levels up slightly, Harry moved over to the coffin. Ancient beings were usually buried with treasures that would help him.

A few gems, an ornamental ritual dagger, and a massive slab of stone.

Harry pocketed the gems, ignored the dagger, and examined the stone.

"Now what are you...?" He muttered to himself, reaching a hand out.

A quick manipulation of his power and he cleared the dirt crusting the slab.

"A map? For what, I wonder?" Harry asked aloud. "Maybe more tombs with these strange walls?"

Maybe he could get some money by selling it to a wizard? Those types liked ancient crap without getting it themselves.

Wrapping the stone in cloth, he bound it to his pack. It wouldn't be fun to carry, but he could do it.

Moving up the stairs Harry traveled a short tunnel, finding a lever at the end. Pulling it lifted a door of stone he hadn't noticed. Moving onwards, he found the exit.

Coming out into the open air on a cliff face, with the crisp breeze swirling around him, Harry viewed the Skyrim sky, watching with wonder as the day turned to night, and the Aurora danced in the cosmos.

 **~Line-Break~**

 **And so, after 6 months, a new chapter. Yes, I am a terrible person. I'm sorry.**


End file.
